My name is Nobody
by Ulises in silence
Summary: There is a story behind the name of Mary Morstan. Translation of "Mi nombre es Nadie".


**WARNING: I do not own Sherlock. Everything belongs to the wonderful creators of the series and the exceptional Arthur Conan Doyle. All the quotes in italics are not mine either. They were taken from the song Afrodita by Sôber. The translation of the latter is not literal; I had to make some modifications if I wanted them to fit in the text.**

**This fic is also available in Spanish. The title is Mi nombre es Nadie. I wrote it because I wanted to take part in the challenge My favourite character of a forum called 221B Baker Street.**

**Although I have checked this story several times, there can be some mistakes. Anyway, I hope you enjoy my own, personal version of the past of our beloved Mary Morstan.**

* * *

><p><em>Past times reminded me that the executioner will not have his hands stained<em>

* * *

><p>Lucky Charlie smiled like a shark, showing all his white teeth. His herculean arms, sculpted by hours in the gym, were perfectly visible under Callaghan's dim light. He looked quite aggressive while taking a sip of the huge jar of Irish beer held in his hands.<p>

"You're too quiet, Blondie". He said suddenly. She didn't answer. Her mind was far away, wandering through some distant place. The waiter had already served the whiskey she had ordered and she still hadn't noticed.

"Don't call me _that. _It's a silly nickname".

Her partner laughed soundly. She could see the beer escaping from the corner of his dry lips.

"You've never told me your name, so I just took the liberty of making up one".

She shot him a warning glare, her own personal way of telling him to shut his mouth up. He was being too invasive. She wanted her identity to remain a secret, especially under her difficult working circumstances. Nevertheless, Lucky Charlie had no fear. He was very careful not to ask about certain matters, but once he drank too much he became a blabbermouth.

"You had a bad day, hadn't you?"

She nodded, bringing down her shields a bit. Since she wasn't going to say anything, she tried the whiskey. Her cheeks turned a deep shade of red when the liquid went down her throat.

* * *

><p><em>Run. Never look back<em>

* * *

><p>The rain received them outside Callaghan's. She knew they should start the retreat in the moment Charlie began flirting shamelessly with the waitress, a stunning ginger who had taken the risk of writing her telephone number on a wrinkled napkin.<p>

They walked silently on the wet pavement. Then Charlie made an effort to explain her where his apartment was.

"See that building made of red bricks? It's on the first floor".

* * *

><p><em>It is like fire running through my veins. I'm burnt inside<em>

* * *

><p>The springs of Charlie's grey armchair groaned in pain when he fell on the cushions. His living room was strangely small and it was barely furnished. Apart from the armchair, there was an ugly coach and an old television. The latter was lying on a wooden shelf which was about to come down.<p>

"Welcome to my castle". He was taking off his massive military boots. "Make yourself at home."

She turned around on her heels in order to make him understand that she was not going to stay in his tiny living room more time than it was requested. The claustrophobic sensation of being in such a narrow space was really bothering her.

"Someday you'll regret that weakness for beer of yours". She stated. "Now I'm going to make you coffee, maybe that way you will stop saying nonsense".

The echo of his reply got lost between the walls of the corridor that led to the kitchen. The place was as crumbled and dusty as the rest of the house. She made a silent complaint before heading to the sticky counter where a surprisingly modern coffee maker had remained untouched by the hands of its owner. Fortunately, she managed to find a bag of roasted ground coffee inside one of the cupboards. Needless to say, the machine made a weird noise when she dared pouring the coffee in the filter.

Lucky Charlie stared at the contents of the cup she brought him a few minutes after with disdain, though he drank to the last drop just because he was afraid of future reprisal.

None of them attempted to start a conversation; it was usually something spontaneous and the weariness was beginning to take its toll on both their minds and bodies. Somewhere in the night she got up to turn the television on. The shadows it projected on the wall were creepy and twisted, but she could not bring herself to care.

* * *

><p><em>You are the princess of a tale that has already finished. You are a broken toy<em>

* * *

><p>She woke up at the sound of china crashing against the floor. Her eyes wandered through the living room trying to find out her current location. However, it was Charlie who caught her attention. He was bent down to collect all the little pieces of what once was his cup of coffee.<p>

"Good morning". His voice was still hoarse from the alcohol. "You can lie on the couch if you want to sleep a bit more. It's only four thirty".

She ignored the suggestion by handing him her own cup. The grounds were stuck all over the inside of the container, staining the previous flashing white of the porcelain. Charlie examined it for a brief moment and when he finished he looked ridiculously amazed.

"Holy shit!". He suddenly exclaimed. "How many years have passed since I saw something like this?"

His big hands covered the white surface once more to show her the mystery.

"For God's sake, Charlie! You're drunk. There's nothing inside that cup, just some nasty coffee grounds".

"Some nasty coffee grounds? These are not just some nasty coffee grounds! This cup contains your future, Blondie. Let me show you".

The shark grin was broader than ever. His face had lightened up abruptly, reminding her of a little kid staring wide-eyed at the colorful lights of a fair. Charlie's personality was normally cheerful and friendly, even though sometimes she had the impression that it was simply a way of hiding his sadness. Perhaps that was the reason why she wasn't capable of denying him the opportunity of laughing at all that nonsense about the future.

"Okay. Tell me what's going to happen".

First, his eyes narrowed comically and then his mouth became a thin pink line. He was carefully inspecting the cup, just like one of those cocky CSI experts would do.

"It looks like you'll go to war soon, Blondie. Here's a soldier".

His tone was funny, almost childish.

"A soldier? What the hell do I have to do with the Army?"

"It's next to a ring, you see?" She peered closely. The shapes were offensively defined. "It means that you will marry a soldier".

She held back a burst of laughter. Absolutely none of the things Charlie was saying could come true, at least not in her situation. Her life was already too messed up to dream about wedding fantasies.

"Oh, I also see magnifying glass". He added. "Do you think it could be a detective?"

* * *

><p><em>You finally managed to escape. Now you're looking for the sunlight to heat every cold moment<em>

* * *

><p>A silence had settled between the two partners. There were a couple of hours left until the dawn broke, as if the sun was reluctant to rise above the roofs of London. The television had been turned off long ago, thus the tiny living room was left under cover of darkness. Lucky Charlie was standing in front of the window, apparently isolated from everything that surrounded him.<p>

She couldn't help studying the man who had been the closest definition of a friend that she had had in her entire existence. In that position, looking through the glass (and thanks to the short sleeve t-shirt he was wearing), the scars that ran along his rough skin were perfectly visible. One of them went from his right shoulder to the forearm; the other was behind his ear, casually hidden by the short and spiky hair of his shaved head. Those marks were the painful reminder of his days working as a secret agent for a government that had not hesitate to get rid of him when he wasn't useful anymore.

Unlike her, Charlie often spoke about his previous life. He liked to remember the beautiful moments he spent with a family that still believed him dead. She knew her partner had had a wife and some children before devoting himself to his current career. She knew that he had a happy past to take refuge in when he was upset and she also knew that he drowned all his grief with alcohol when those memories hurt.

"You haven't taken your eyes off me for a while. What's going on?"

She shook her head in order to hide the shame of being discovered. Sometimes she forgot that if Charlie and she herself wanted to survive they had to always stay alert.

"Don't lie to me, Blondie. I've noticed that you've been too submerged in your own world lately".

He was right, but her pride couldn't bear it, so she decided not to answer.

"I'll be there whenever you need me. Always by your side, remember?" Charlie had abandoned his position by the window to seat with her on the coach. "You can tell me whatever is bothering you".

There was a knot in her stomach. No matter how hard she tried, it was impossible to find the strength to spit out her feelings. But she owed Charlie the truth. And despite his kind words and his sympathy, she was too coward to speak out loud.

"All this crap is nothing more than a burden, you know?" He was holding her hands and their fingers were interviewed. She kept her eyes on the imaginary dirt spots of the floor. His words were too painful, like needles piercing the core of her wrecked soul. "I've seen this before: first is the guilt and after that there's a thick rope around your neck because you have lost control. You have to stop this madness before it kills you. I won't be able to forgive myself if anything happens to you, Blondie".

_Guilt._ That simple word tasted too bitter on her tongue every single morning, even when she had fight with all she had to bury it under thousands of self-possession layers. Guilt was the main character of her nightmares, the term that prevented her from falling asleep at night. Guilt was written all over the bullets that had gone right through targeted skulls, on the screams of sheer horror, on the lifeless bodies of the victims and on the blood that stained the walls every time the gun released a new projectile with that deafening sound.

Coping with the guilt, living with it, was the price to pay. Hesitation could never be an option. The bosses have been clear enough.

Finally, her rigid silence broke into pieces. Her eyes were stinging and her voice had vanished. The sobs were followed by streams of tears. Charlie put his strong arms around her middle, hugging her tightly. The waves of sorrow were hitting her so hard that she fell into a peaceful numbness.

There were no more barriers. She could give up pretending that she was made of stone.

* * *

><p><em>There are thousands of reasons to change your direction<em>

* * *

><p>Three days after her ultimate breakdown, she found herself in Callaghan's again. Charlie was seated on the opposite side of the table, smiling openly. They haven't said a word since they got into the pub, but she had noticed how he was fidgeting in his chair.<p>

Then he stretched out his arms to give her a little red book. Judging by the golden badge of the cover, it must be a passport.

"A fake identity?"

She arched her eyebrows. It certainly wasn't what she was expecting.

"You could say that someone owed me a favour". He explained. "Now you can start the life you deserve".

For a second, she thought it was a dream. It was extremely good to be true. Anyway, she had a look at the passport to make sure it wasn't going to disappear.

"Mary Elizabeth Morstan? A little too biblical for me…"

Charlie's laughed was heard in every corner of Callaghan's.

"It's the name of a stillborn child. Poor little thing". He managed to say when he composed himself.

Only when she examined the document a second time she noticed the photograph beside her new name. She was smiling like a happy teenager and it was the first self-smile she had seen in years.

"Maybe I should stop calling you Blondie. I don't want your future soldier husband to punch me in the face when we meet."

* * *

><p><em>Everything is over. The past is dead and buried<em>


End file.
